Sometimes, the only thing I can do to keep the visions away is watch the blood drip along the white walls until it looks like an army of little red soldiers marching down, down, down...
I've had the visions ever since I met you. Whether they are past, present, or future I do not know. It doesn't matter to me. Some of them are tame, like you drinking your life away under a bridge three miles out of town with your buddies. I hadn't murdered them; they had done nothing to hurt you. It's the visions of you with the girl who lived across the street, going for ice cream and laughing together. She doesn't live across the street anymore.
I know that these things may have happened in the past, and therefore don't matter. But on the off chance they do occur in the future, I have the opportunity to stop it before it becomes a problem. The visions have been going on for so long, and so has the killing. A wrench went through my usual plans however, when my sister became the center of these visions. My first reaction was despair; I couldn't kill my sister. But the next was betrayal, and the desire for revenge. I clenched my fists so violently my fingernails cut into my skin.
The pain from my fingernails made my brain wake up. And then, white. Blinding white light, someone holding my hand tightly. I couldn't move. Metal bars held me in. I started to thrash, screaming for him to help me, for someone to help me.
"He doesn't exist," the woman holding my hand said. My eyes focus on the stark white walls. The walls of the psych ward.
I imagine my own blood running down them.
